


Keeping Tabs

by H3llcat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Exes, Guilt, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Post-TLJ, Referenced past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H3llcat/pseuds/H3llcat
Summary: Hux takes advantage of his allotted planetside leave, and Ren tags along to ensure 1) he isn't plotting his downfall and 2) that he has an absolutely miserable time.





	Keeping Tabs

“What are you doing?” Since becoming--or, rather, since declaring himself--Supreme Leader, Ren’s use of the passcode override to Hux’s quarters has become increasingly liberal. He doesn’t need to ask permission to seek out the general to discuss matters of import, he tells himself. Half a lie. The truth? He now looks for burgeoning coups around every corner, knowing without a doubt that when he finds one--because it  _ is _ a matter of  _ when _ not  _ if _ \--he’ll see fire red hair at its head. 

The sight before him now is one he isn’t quite sure what to make of. There’s a standard issue duffle bag open on Hux’s neatly made bed, items laid out beside it that looks as if he’s preparing for some sort of trip. Immaculately folded pajamas, three pairs of rolled socks, a small stack of spare undershirts. The general himself stands awkwardly beside it with a toiletry bag in hand, long fingers digging uncertainly into its canvas sides, a strange expression hinting across his face as if he’s been caught doing something shameful. 

“Where are you going?” Ren alters his question. 

The expression is gone as quickly as it had come. “I’m taking a planetside leave for a few cycles as is a perk befitting my rank. Certainly you don’t mean to deprive me of that, Supreme Leader.” 

It’s a statement rather than a question, accompanied by a cleverly timed title that Hux always manages to make sound equal parts mocking and respectful. He’s right, by any means. Ren has no valid reason to deny him a short leave, it would only serve as one more twig in the blaze for it to get out that Supreme Leader Kylo Ren wouldn’t allow his undeniably (annoyingly) most hard working officer a reasonably timed vacation. 

But that’s just it, not once in Hux’s life has he taken advantage of his allotted leave, so why now? Does he mean to kindle an uprising in one of their territories? It seems a large task for one man--even if that man is Hux. Is he deserting? That sounds as unlikely as Hux taking a vacation, and yet, here they are. “I’m going with you.” What was that old saying? Keep your friends close and enemies closer? A private smirk curls Ren’s lips. It certainly feels applicable. 

“And  _ why _ would you do that?” Hux sounds exasperated more than anything. Tired. He always  _ is _ tired, Ren can sense the exhaustion forever looming over him like his own personal rain cloud, but there is usually still a sharpness in his gaze, a light of sorts that has now been snuffed out. Staging a mutiny must be hard work. 

“I don’t trust you.” There’s no need to lie. He’s the Supreme Leader after all (a fact he needs to remind himself of with startling frequency). And one of his favorite forms of entertainment is irritating his second-in-command. But where he expected a fight, a snide remark at the least, there’s… nothing. Not even that sneer he’s so fond of. Ren is… disappointed. Confused. Hux must be really confident in his plan, he decides. “We leave once I’ve packed.” He’s determined to retain some control of a situation he feels slipping through his grasp. Hux is a great many things but unpredictable has never been one of them. He’s always been exceptionally easy to read, and his emotions are worn like a badge. But now… 

\---

Ren had insisted on piloting their shuttle, not fully believing Hux would sabotage it with himself inside, but chose not to take a chance anyways. The coordinates he was supplied with bring them now to a dour little planet that looks to be more water than land. 

He pulls his hood up to protect against the downpour as the heels of their boots click in unison down the durasteel ramp, lip curling dramatically in disgust when he’s hit with the stench of fish. “I’ll authorize the construction of a new Starkiller if this planet can be the first target.” He actually expects some sort of positive response from Hux (chasing his rare, musical laugh as much as his ire, though he’d never admit it to himself), but instead his gaze slips over to the general just in time to see him flinch. “Where are we anyways?” Ren questions hurriedly to move on from his own bad joke. 

“Arkanis.” 

“Why are we here?”

“ _ I’m _ here on leave.” Hux offers nothing more and leads the way down the rickety pier. 

Maybe he’s overthinking it and Hux is just bad at taking vacations, Ren entertains the thought as they weave past vendors’ stalls that seem to carry nothing but fish or fishing equipment. Maybe he doesn’t understand the concept of a tropical beach or luxury resort. He huffs a laugh at the idea that Hux somehow considers slowly rotting fish and incessant rain to be a relaxing getaway. In a way, it would be fitting if the general didn’t know true peace. 

If Ren thought the planet itself was abysmal, the hotel Hux finds is worse still. The whole place reeks of mildew, the air inside unpleasantly cool and damp. Generic paintings hang crooked on yellowing walls, and Ren feels the ugly green carpet squelch beneath his boots. 

“We’ll need two rooms for two nights,” Hux is telling the woman at the desk. 

“One room,” Ren corrects, nudging Hux out of the way. “Just one room, one bed.” He’s no longer amused by the situation Hux has forced him into and fully plans to show him how much so. 

“I don’t intend to share a bed with you--”

“You’re not.” Ren grabs both their bags and stalks off in search of their assigned room. It’s as terrible as the lobby, tacky art on the walls, mold dotting the room’s corners. The first thing he does (after throwing Hux’s luggage across the room) is rip the sheets of questionable cleanliness from the mattress. 

“And where am I supposed to sleep?” Hux questions as he brushes off his bag, the indignation in his tone forced. 

“Couch.” Ren flops back onto the bed, grinning, pleased with himself, as he watches Hux look warily to the narrow, stained loveseat. “That’s what you get for dragging me here.” 

Hux’s jaw flops open with disbelief, the anger drawing his fine brows inward is genuine for the first time since they boarded the small craft that brought them here. “I didn’t--” He cuts himself off, snaps his mouth closed, apparently deciding it isn’t worth the effort to argue. 

“Enjoy your vacation, General.” 

Hux’s lips pull down in a frown that reads more as sad than displeased, an expression Ren has never seen him wear before. The redhead retreats to the refresher, slamming the manual door closed behind him, leaving Ren with his thoughts. 

He still doesn’t see the point of this sabbatical and Hux’s thoughts are too muddled to wade through for the truth. Ren can’t imagine he’s planning an uprising with an impoverished planet of fisherpeople. Maybe there’s some hidden resource here he’s unaware of. That doesn’t seem likely either. Whatever it is, he wishes Hux could have chosen somewhere more desirable. 

He rolls over to bury his face in his pillow, seeking a reprieve from the earthy scent of mildew, but only finds it stronger there. With a flick of his fingers, the pillow flies off the bed and he contents himself with staring at the ceiling until Hux emerges sometime later. 

Hux’s hair is damp at the tips, combed back into some semblance of its usual severity but loose without the pomade, and he’s changed into gray, standard issue pajama bottoms as well as a poorly knitted sweater that is two sizes too large in a shade too red for his coloring. Ren wants to laugh at the pathetic sight he makes, so he does. Hux’s cheeks pinken in ugly blotches, ashamed, the first response he’s had that’s pleased Ren since the strange journey began. But no more words are exchanged between them, Hux merely curls himself up small enough to fit on the tiny sofa, back to Ren. He shivers in the cold of the room. 

_ Enjoy your vacation, General  _ indeed. 

Ren smirks again at his own cleverness in ruining Hux’s trip. He turns up the brightness in their room just to be especially annoying before turning over himself and letting sleep take him. 

\---

When he wakes in the morning, he finds Hux already awake. His hair is combed, he’s dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform, and now stands before the mirror with a long length of sheer black fabric in hand. He hasn’t yet noticed that Ren is awake, and Ren watches curiously as he situates the fabric over his head, hanging to his knees in front and halfway down his calves in the back. A veil? 

“Ah, I get it now. You came here to marry a secret lover. How quaint.” 

Hux starts at the sudden sound of his voice and whips around with a half hearted glare, the fabric of the veil swishing prettily about his slim frame. 

“Tell me, General, does his dick taste like fish?”

“That’s not why--”

“He couldn’t have put you up in a better hotel? I never pictured you as the wife of a poverty stricken fisherman. You could have at least used your bodily charms to secure something of value for the Order--”

“I’m here for a funeral!” Hux yells, carefully cultivated control slipping, delicate hands balled into quaking fists at his sides. “This is my home planet. And I’m here for a funeral.” 

_ Oh.  _ Ren doesn’t feel guilty, no, certainly not, there’s just a… strange sort of… sinking feeling… in his gut. But it isn’t guilt. Certainly not. “Who--”

“My  mother.”

“I didn’t know you--”

“I haven’t had contact with her since I was four.”

“Then how--”

“I’ve been keeping tabs on her since my father died.” 

“Why--”

“I ask, respectfully, that you allow me to say goodbye to my mother in peace. Supreme Leader.” The title an afterthought, laced delicately with threads of fear. 

Despite the distrust that sent him to Arkanis in the first place, Ren knows he’s hearing the truth now, and something ( _ not  _ guilt) gnaws at him for intentionally adding to Hux’s grief. He doesn’t care about Hux’s wellbeing, he reminds himself--he  _ shouldn’t _ anyways--but, suddenly, there’s no triumph in each frown he caused. 

“I won’t allow you to go alone,” he grumbles, feeling somehow small, nearly embarrassed by his behavior. Not that Hux deserves kindness, he amends, feeling uncomfortably weakened by empathy even in the privacy of his own mind, but he  _ could _ have been a less invasive presence on this trip. Still, he can’t chance leaving Hux alone. This all could have been an overly elaborate ruse to get him to let his guard down so Hux could strike. Probably not. But maybe. (Or, maybe, Hux would be in need of comforting--Ren pointedly ignores  _ this _ particular small voice in the back of his head)

\---

Ren’s not sure what he expected, but it wasn’t a funeral pyre on this damp planet. It makes sense, he supposes, bodies buried beneath the boggy ground would merely float back to the surface, creating quite the macabre scene. Still, the blaze burns too brightly against the grim, gray backdrop that Arkanis provides, sending small fidgets of unease through his gloved hands and the balance of his weight. 

The gathering is small. There’s a man in rough hewn black robes speaking in droning tones beside the pyre--a priest of some sort, though Ren won’t pretend to be well versed in the religions practiced in unfamiliar territories. Besides, there are only three other figures, all wearing veils similar to the one Hux had donned. It must be some sort of cultural funerary custom, he muses, mind darting from observation to observation to block out the tangle of emotions being projected from Hux standing stone still and stoic at his side. 

It isn’t that Hux is sad exactly, that’s not it, Ren has picked up that he didn’t know her well enough to feel genuine sadness. The lack of anguish leads to a complicated guilt in the general who is under the impression that he  _ should  _ feel sad. There’s discomfort at the situation in general, being here, on his home planet again, surrounded by people he might have known once or might have known now had his life gone down a different path, had he not been groomed for Brendol’s cause from birth. There’s self hatred in two distinct parts, the first for never getting to know the woman whose corpse they now watch burn, and, the second which Ren finds most curious of all, a self hatred for being here rather than commanding their fleet (or, rather, reassembling what remains of their fleet). It’s a mess of powerful, dueling anxieties hidden beneath tight lips and a flimsy veil, a storm that Ren would rather not weather, but Hux inadvertently batters it against his mind’s hatches. 

The service is short and none of the mourners step forward to say a few words when prompted by the officiator. Instead, they all wander silently away while the fire still burns, but Hux stays firmly in place, unflinching and unaware that he’s flinging his inner turmoil to the forefront of Ren’s thoughts. 

“You didn’t need a mother,” Ren tries to reassure in a soft tone that sounds foreign even to his own ears. Admittedly, he’s new to the concept of actively comforting another person and perhaps this isn’t the best situation to test out his untapped skill, but he feels he has to say something, that strange sinking feeling still settling heavy in his gut. 

“You’re an insensitive prick, Ren,” Hux huffs through a bitter laugh, moving for the first time as he shifts his weight back as if he wants to turn to leave but isn’t sure he can. 

Ren’s brows knit together at hearing his name from Hux’s lips, a familiarity to it that he hasn’t heard in a long time. “You speak to me so casually.” It’s more of a curious observation than a reprimand, but he spots the smallest flutter of Hux’s pulse at his throat as if he’s waiting for a harsher reaction. 

“I’m off duty, I can speak to you however I want.” Insolent when no punishment comes. 

“Is that how it works?” A real question, he isn’t sure. No part of being Supreme Leader is intuitive to him in the least, absolute power a new concept, too used to kneeling and serving for another’s cause. 

Another laugh, more amused than before--Ren supposes it’s better than grim resignation. “Not really, no.”

Silence passes between them, lasting long enough to fall just this side of awkward, and Ren is weighing the appropriateness of different things he could say when Hux breaks his own trance. “I want to go back to the hotel.” 

A sigh of relief deflates Ren’s shoulders. He’s quick to nod his agreement. 

\---

“You can share the bed if you want,” Ren offers as he watches Hux fluff the couch’s one, mostly flat pillow. 

“I’m fine where I’m at.” 

“Come on, Hux, we used to… back in the day… in the beginning--” 

“And that was a very long time ago. I’m no longer a new officer looking for companionship and you’re…” He pauses, reconsidering his thought process, but Ren receives fast images of memories old and new alike, snippets of injuries and pains he caused. Flinging Hux into unforgiving durasteel, tightening an invisible grip around his throat to make him gasp and beg, slamming him face first into the grated floor of the bridge for no reason other than wanting to humiliate or feel in control after meetings gone sour with Snoke. “We’re both different people now,” Hux finally decides diplomatically. 

“If you change your mind--” 

They had been good together. Once. Years ago, as Hux hadn’t hesitated to point out. They had taken comfort in one another when they were new to the might of the First Order. Hux had felt grounded in his arms, less lost and alone on their big ship after the death of his father. And with Hux pressed against him, murmuring reassurances in his ear, the weight of Ren’s own betrayals was less suffocating. 

They’d found joy in each other--pleasure, even. Countless nights were spent in rumpled, sweat damp sheets, moaning encouragement and words of almost-love. Each roll of his hips up into Hux had soothed Ren’s fear, frustration, apprehension, self-loathing, the myriad of things Snoke had instilled in him early on to secure his obedience. And Hux had allowed himself to be taken apart and put back together stronger, better, by Ren’s lips, his hands, each touch a silent promise that he was worthwhile and deserving even as senior officers hissed behind his back that he had gotten to where he was through means other than his own merit. 

They’d helped one another adjust to the choices they’d made, and Ren is sure he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he has if it weren’t for Hux allowing him to be vulnerable in those early days when everything was frightening and uncertain. But maybe the past is meant to be left in the past, a concept he’s struggling to come to terms with now as he takes in the exhausted slope of Hux’s narrow shoulders, feels the desperate way he’s trying to compartmentalize the new emotions that the loss of his estranged mother stirred up.

Ren just wants to hold him. He wants to tuck him safely in his arms, kiss any part of him he can reach, and apologize for being an asshole until he’s blue in the face. He wants to soothe Hux’s hurt, wants to give him a deserved night of rest… wants to work towards what they had once been. But he’s not wanted, not trusted, not anymore, a fate of his own making as they both know it would come crumbling back down--in even more shattered pieces than before--the first time he loses his temper and touches Hux with something other than reverence. 

“I won’t change my mind.” 

“Okay. But if you do--” Maybe, maybe. 

“Good night, Ren.” 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter @h311cat](https://twitter.com/h311cat) or on [tumblr](https://h3llcat.tumblr.com/).


End file.
